


I Wanna Be Alright With My Baby Tonight

by graceling_in_a_suit



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Art Student Zayn Malik, Asexual Niall Horan, Awkward Crush, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Football | Soccer, Insecurity, M/M, Mentions of Menstruation, Nonbinary Liam, Ot5 is part of a university queer football team you're welcome, Photography Student Harry Styles, Romance, Trans Harry Styles, Trans Louis Tomlinson, mentions of Daddy KInk, mentions of transphobia, or should i say MENstruation hahaha, reclamation of the word 'queer', trans pride! hell yeah!, wait no please dont go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 14:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceling_in_a_suit/pseuds/graceling_in_a_suit
Summary: Harry Styles' university football team(Go Queers!)is on a losing streak, and so is his love life. Louis Tomlinson—a fellow trans man and the team's new co-captain—might just be able to help with both.





	I Wanna Be Alright With My Baby Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to what will hopefully be the first of many fics I write with trans characters! There really aren't enough of these, which is a crying shame. I'd like it noted that while I do identify as transgender (specifically, transmale), I can't pretend to speak for the entire community. I've done my very best to approach this fic with love and pride and empathy, and part of that involves having characters (particularly Harry) express views that may be hurtful as a way of showing how someone might be affected by internalised transphobia (and also overcome it). 
> 
> That being said, this fic is really happy! I promise. It's also tragically unbetad, so any mistakes are mine (and there are probably a few oops lmao pobody's nerfect). And just in case you were wondering, no I don't know anything about university in the UK, and if you do and I've gotten something wrong, then write it on a piece of paper, hold it to they sky, and let it drift off into the breeze. It's fun boy hours. Put your fun boy hat on.
> 
> Title comes from Alfie's Song by Bleachers.

_ Just one more minute, _Harry thought. He pushed his legs to their limit, his feet pounding on the treadmill in time to the beat of the music blaring in his ears. 

The university gym was empty at this time in the afternoon, except for a few intimidatingly buff lads cajoling each other into doing more ‘reppies’.

Harry slowed to a jog, then a brisk walk as he lowered the speed on the treadmill. He focused on his breathing as he pressed two fingers to his neck to feel his pulse. 

He wasn’t counting it or anything, he just liked to feel the stuttering of it after a good run, to prove to himself that he was in control of his body. 

After the song finished, Harry hopped off the machine and headed for his locker. 

His phone pinged as he pulled off his tank. Harry made a face at the sweat pooling in his sports bra, shoved a clean shirt over his head, and checked the message. 

**Leemo: ** _ Hey bro you wanna meet up for juice b4 practice ? I’m thirsty ha ha _

Harry frowned. 

**Harry: ** _ Practice is cancelled tho???? I just worked out im knackered _

Three little dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared after a few seconds. 

**Leemo: ** _ It was uncancelled this morning bro, didn’t you get Niall’s msg? _

Harry cursed and scrolled through his messages. Sure enough, there was a friendly little popup from Niall saying practice was back on, ‘see you there!’

Harry pouted. 

**Harry: ** _ BUt Liam! I’m KNACKERED. _

He accompanied the message with thirty crying emojis. 

Liam sent back a selfie. He looked unimpressed. 

Harry sighed and slung his workout back over his shoulder. 

**Harry: ** _ Fine but ur buying me juice _

Liam sent another photo, this time of a table with two juices sitting on it. Harry zoomed in on the background of the image, smiling when he recognised the place Liam was sitting. 

**Harry: ** _ c u soon _

Harry’s legs shook all the way there, but he had the usual rush of post-workout endorphins to get him through.   
  
He collapsed down into the seat across from Liam and scooped up the juice he wasn’t holding, taking an obnoxiously long slurp before he even said hi. 

Liam raised his eyebrows at him, but there was laughter in his eyes. 

“You weren’t kidding, mate. You’re a sweaty mess,” he said, running a hand over his recently-shorn hair. 

Harry reached across the table to do the same—it just looked so fuzzy!—but Liam batted his hand away as usual. 

Harry laughed. “Yeah, feel a bit shaky, too. Might just have to take it easy at practice.”

Liam’s face lit up at the mention of it. “Bro! I’ve got news!”  
  
Harry eyed the excited squirming Liam was doing with a cynical expression. “News! Wow! What is it!” he exclaimed, tapping his hands on the table like a hyped up puppy. 

Liam made a face at him and kicked his shin. He’d long since stopped taking serious offense to Harry’s gentle mockery, but that didn’t stop him from being salty about it. 

“You’d be excited, too. If you knew what it was.”

Harry shook his head and took another gulp of juice. “Well, are you gonna tell me or what?”

Liam tapped his chin consideringly. “Hmm, don’t think I will, actually.”  
  
Harry gasped. “Oi!” 

Liam shrugged. 

Harry pouted. “I’m sorry for making fun of you. Pleeeeease?” 

“You’ll find out when we get there. C’mon,” Liam shoved his phone in his pocket and stood, half-empty juice left abandoned on the table.   
  
Harry grabbed it up and followed as Liam started walking towards the practice field. They had most of the campus to cover before they got there, so Harry was confident he could get it out of Liam by then. 

Liam had other ideas, apparently. 

He kept his lips firmly (annoying, infuriatingly) sealed. 

“You’re like a dog with a bone, mate,” Liam laughed as he dumped his bag on one of the undercover seats. Despite Niall’s message, the stormy-grey skies looked about half an hour from opening up all over them. 

Harry dumped his bag as well, then threw the two empty juices into a bin. “You’re a cruel, cruel person, Payno,” he mumbled, stretching out his legs. 

Liam just laughed and made for the centre of the field where Harry could see their team gathering. 

Harry followed, a smile blooming on his face at the sign of his mates. He’d been a fresh-eyed first year when he’d joined the campus football team. He’d never been much of a player—too many legs and not enough sense, his phys ed teacher once said—but that had changed when he walked past a rainbow-patterned booth in orientation week. He’d stopped in the middle of the walkway and Niall Horan had beamed up at him and said, “Queer football! You interested?”

And that was that; a year and a half later, with more lost matches than he could count, and he’d carved himself a place in the rag-tag team.

Niall grinned at him as he made his way over. 

“Oi oi, Harry! Nice to see you.” 

Harry slung his arms around Niall’s waist and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. Niall endured the affection with all the grace of a world-weary feline in a house of toddlers. 

“Lads, ladies, and nonbinary friends,” Niall called, extricating himself from Harry’s grip so he could address the group. A dozen faces smiled back at him, Harry’s included as he shuffled in next to Liam. “I’ve got a very exciting announcement!”

Liam elbowed Harry, and Harry elbowed him back just as hard. 

Niall opened his mouth to continue, but a voice from behind the group interrupted him. 

“Sorry I’m late, loves!” 

Harry’s eyebrows raised to his hairline as he turned to take in the person who’d spoken. He was jogging up to the group, a sheepish smile on his face. His hair was pulled away from his face under a thin headband, his blue eyes were far too bright for such an overcast day, and when he met Niall for a quick hug—the kind with rough back pats and laughter—Harry couldn’t help but check out the way his ass looked in his football kit. 

“Tommo! Just in time,” Niall said, catching the most stunningly beautiful boy Harry had ever seen by the shoulders so he could turn him towards the team. “Everybody, I’d like to introduce our new co-captain, Louis Tomlinson.”  
  
Shocked silence. Leigh-Anne cleared her throat, then raised her hand. 

Niall pointed at her, but all she had to say was, “huh?” 

Louis bit his lip sort of shyly. “Hiya, everyone. Lovely to meet you! I’ve just transferred here, and I was the captain of the football team over at my last uni. I knew Niall through some mutual friends, so I reached out to him about joining this team, and he pretty much insisted I help him out as team captain.”  
  
Niall shook his fist at the sky. “Whip these hooligans into shape!” 

Jesy frowned. “Is this because we’ve not won a single game? Because you always say that winning’s—”

“—not important, yeah, I know. But with Tommo here, maybe it could be?” 

Louis looked embarrassed, and all of a sudden Harry felt bad for him. It wasn’t his fault that this team sucked. 

Harry cleared his throat. “It’s nice to have you, Louis,” he said, sending a pointed look towards his friends. “Welcome to the team.”

Louis’ eyes found his in an instant, and Harry tried to smile but an _ angel _was staring at him with soft, grateful eyes so it ended up shaky at best. 

Niall clapped. “Right. Let’s do intros and pronouns, then we can get to work!” 

“I’ll start, shall I?” Louis said. He’d turned his attention away from Harry, but Harry didn’t mind because he get to listen to Louis’ scratchy, Yorkshire-accented voice instead. “I’m Louis, I’m trans and gay, and I use he/him pronouns.” 

Harry’s heart stopped beating. 

“Niall, asexual, he/him,” Niall rattled off. 

_ He’s trans. And gay. _ Harry felt giddy and sick all at once, and he had no fucking idea why. He knew better than to think any of the many thoughts racing through his mind— _ he’s so passing, he’s definitely had top surgery, it’s so fucking unfair, he’s like _ me _ except he’s fit as hell and no one would ever throw up at the concept of fucking him, and he just came out to a group of total strangers with more confidence than any cishet guy— _but he couldn’t stop them. He barely noticed when Liam started talking next to him. 

“Liam, pan and nonbinary, he/him or they/them. Depends on the day, you can check what badge I have on,” he said, pointing to the metal pin on his shirt. Today it said ‘he, please!’—Harry had seen it this morning over breakfast in their shitty off-campus flat. 

Then, far too soon, it was Harry’s turn. 

Liam nudged him, and Harry jolted. “Oh—um,” he stumbled, wetting his lips. He always hated this part. He was rubbish at it, it always felt like the words got stuck in his throat and came out all wrong. _ Hah, get it? Came out? _

Louis was smiling at him, gentle and encouraging. For some reason, that made him angry. Like, yeah, we get it, you’re so great at being queer, don’t need to rub it in everyone’s face. 

“I’m Harry,” he mumbled, shuffling his feet. “I’m t—um, sorry. I’m trans. And gay. I use he/him pronouns.”

And then it was over, and Niall was calling out commands, getting everyone organised to do their first drill. Harry was teamed up with Perrie for dribbling practice, and the rest of the evening passed in a blur of movement, shouting, laughter, and football. 

Louis was a great co-captain; that much was clear from the start. He was gentle when he needed to be, careful and articulate in the way he explained things. He was also hilarious, and even with all the chaos going through Harry’s head he still managed to surprise him into a laugh a few times. Every time it happened, Louis would shoot him a private smile, and Harry would be back on his mental-bullshit-train. 

It was exhausting. 

He didn’t hang around afterwards like he normally would—he didn’t feel like chatting as everyone changed and probably ending up in the campus pub talking shit over pints.

Instead, he grabbed his bag, wiped his face down with a towel, and started towards the car park. 

A hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could get very far. 

Harry turned, expecting to see Liam asking him what the hell was going on, but he found Louis instead. 

He’d splashed some water on his face, and his headband was looped around his wrist. He looked smaller up close, and Harry was shocked to find he was a little taller than him. He was breathing heavily, his perfectly smooth chest rising and falling. He was staring up at Harry, and Harry resisted the urge to run his fingers through Louis’ loose, sweaty hair, because that wasn’t something nice, polite boys did to people they’d just met. 

And Harry was the nicest, most polite boy. 

Today’s events notwithstanding. 

“Harry, one sec,” Louis said, taking his hand back so he could use the bottom of his shirt to wipe the water from his face. It revealed a toned, tan stomach; lithe yet soft. Harry wanted to drop to his knees and bury his face in it, which was _ definitely _not nice or polite. “I just wanted to thank you for sticking up for me earlier.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. 

Louis fidgeted with his hair, and if Harry didn’t know better he’d read that as a nervous tick. 

But there was no way _ Louis _ was nervous around _ Harry. _  
  
Louis smiled, a hopeful tilt to his eyebrows, and poked Harry in the arm. “Us transboys gotta stick together, huh?” 

Harry almost swallowed his tongue. He glanced down, and couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of his tits pressed to his chest in his sports bra. He used to feel so uncomfortable going to practice without his binder—he knew he could exercise in it, it was just that every time he did he was too paranoid about not being able to breathe properly—but that tension had eased after a month or so. And now it was back in full force, and it took all of Harry’s strength to not cross his arms over his chest defensively.

He didn’t have to do that. He _ knew _he didn’t have to. Nothing about Louis was telling him that he cared about that. 

“Yeah,” Harry choked out. He pumped his fist in the air weakly. “Down with the tyranny of the cis!” 

Louis laughed. It was an adorable laugh—individual ‘ha’s, crinkles by his eyes, the whole nine yards—and Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight of it. 

“Tommo!” 

Louis glanced over his shoulder and waved back at Niall. Harry took a step away from him, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. 

Louis turned back to him apologetically. “Catch you next week, mate?” 

Harry nodded, then turned away before he could do anything else to embarrass himself. 

* * *

“Zayn! Zayn, I need your help.” 

There was shuffling from the other end of the line, then a low grunt. 

Harry paused. He adjusted his grip on his trolley, smiled at an old lady who was giving him a confused once over, and made his way to the frozen goods aisle. 

“What’s happening?” 

Harry stared at the selection of ice cream for a beat. “Nevermind, I forgot I’d have to explain it to you first. You can go back to sleep.” 

Zayn scoffed. “Too late for that, asshole. I’ll be round in fifteen, you can draw me a picture.” 

Harry grinned and started piling ice cream tubs into the trolley. “‘Kay, love you.” 

Zayn hung up. 

Harry laughed and shoved the phone back into his jeans.

* * *

“So, what your saying is…” Zayn shovelled some chocolate-fudge-peanut-butter-nightmare-fuel into his mouth and pointed at Harry with the spoon. “You met a hot guy and panicked?” 

Harry huffed. He shoved his cold feet under Zayn’s legs, ignoring his squawk of protest. “It’s more complicated than that, Z. I actually _ lost it. _Nonfunctional.” 

Zayn hummed. “Is there a difference between normal you and nonfunctional you on the field?” 

Harry poked his tongue out, then he stopped to think about it. “Not really, actually.”

Zayn threw his hands in the air. “Then what’s the problem, mate?” 

Harry groaned and buried himself under the blanket they were sharing. He watched Zayn through the fabric—a blur of lights and particles—and mumbled, “The problem is that he’s better than me at being trans.”

There was a pointed silence. 

Harry sighed. He didn’t take the blanket off his head. “Shut up, I know how that sounds. It’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever _ thought. _ But I can’t help it.” Harry peaked out from under the edge, taking in Zayn’s impassive expression. “He’s never gonna look twice at me, he’s a Greek God and I’m…” Harry closed his eyes. “Like, I don’t know. A Roman demigod at _ best. _” 

Zayn just blinked at him. 

Harry lowered the rest of the blanket and looked down at his hands. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment, remembering Louis’ hands—so dainty and effortlessly regal, he managed to pull off _ camp _ with it reading as _ femme _—and blinked back tears. 

“Is this about Xander?” 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He should’ve known it was a mistake to come to Zayn about this. He’d been so caught up in how nice it would be to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge him—and Zayn _ never _did—that he’d forgotten what happened the last time he’d unburdened himself. 

“No. And I told you, that wasn’t a big deal—”

Zayn cursed. “Not a big deal? Harry, he broke up with you because you weren’t _ man enough, _he was a massive transphobic cunt and he fucked up your self esteem. Don’t give me that look, I know he did.” 

Harry shrugged, trying not to let his hackles raise. Zayn meant well, he needed to remember that. “People say shit like that to trans guys all the time, I’m not special.” 

Zayn set down his ice cream with a heavy _ clunk. _

“Harry Styles, look at me.”

Harry did. 

“Just because you’re going through something other people have doesn’t mean you’re not _ going through it. _It just means that you’re not alone, yeah?” 

Harry’s lips remembered how to smile, even if his brain didn’t. “Zayn Malik,” he said, leaning forward, “you’re a great friend and I love you.” 

Zayn rolled his eyes, but Harry could tell he was pleased. “Whatever, man.”

Harry shook his head. “Not whatever. Now, tell me how your painting project is going—last I heard you were still tossing up a few concepts.” 

Zayn groaned and fell backwards against the couch. “I haven’t decided yet, I’m going insane.” 

Harry wiggled his toes until Zayn whacked his knee to make him stop. “Tell me about it.”

* * *

Harry was leaving his experimental photography class a few days later when he saw Louis Tomlinson again. 

He was standing in the shade of the campus library, switching between squinting down at his phone and looking around in confusion. In beat-up vans, skin-tight black jeans, a loose tank-top, and a shaggy beanie he managed to make ‘help-I’m-lost’ seam effortlessly sexy. 

Harry stared at him for longer than could be considered normal, cursed his own compassionate nature, then approached Louis with his best, most helpful-looking grin. 

“Need a hand?” he asked. 

Louis startled, turning to Harry with a hand flattened over his chest. Harry got distracted for a moment trying to count how many tattoos he had (he got to twelve) that he almost missed the dazzling smile Louis sent him.   
  
“Morning, Harold,” he said. “Yeah, actually. Rubbish at reading maps, me. I have _ no _idea how to get to G4.” He waved his phone in the air as if to demonstrate his uselessness. 

Harry took the phone from his hand gently, then said without really thinking, “at least you have your looks.” 

Harry froze, eyes wide on the phone. 

Louis hadn’t said anything for several seconds. 

Harry looked up. “Not that you aren’t smart, or anything. I’m sure you’re brilliant, I didn’t mean–”

Louis laughed and waved him off, but there was something off about the sound. _ Great, now I’ve freaked him out and he’ll never look at me again, let alone have my babies— _

“S’alright, love. I can take a compliment.” 

Harry blinked. “Yeah. Um.” He turned his attention back to the phone and zoomed out on the map. “Oh, I know which building that is, I took a poetry class there last semester. It’s just over there, then left a little–” Harry said, turning to face the direction in question. 

Louis interrupted his attempt at directions, ducking around so he was in Harry’s line of sight once more. “Actually, do you think you could take me? Unless you’re busy.” 

Harry had no idea why Louis could possibly be under the impression that anyone on Earth would say no to him. Those eye-crinkles alone could rally armies. The ocean would part at one blink of his ridiculously beautiful lashes. Don’t get Harry started on his _ nose. _

“Sure,” Harry said, feeling dizzy. “Would it be weird if I booped your nose?” 

Harry could have whacked himself, but Louis just raised his eyebrows and laughed delightedly.   
  
“Sorry, I’m really loopy today,” Harry rushed to explain. He lifted the forgotten Starbucks cup in his hand as proof. “Too much caffeine.”

Louis stepped closer. He reached towards Harry—_ if he touches me right now I think I might actually drop dead— _then plucked his phone from Harry’s left hand and the cup from the other. 

“Better take that, then,” he said, stepping backwards and lifting the straw to his lips to take a sip. He made a face. “There’s no sugar in this, Harry. Who _ are _ you? Someone who cares about their teeth? Honestly.” 

Harry grinned. He didn’t normally react to being teased by _ grinning, _but. Here he was, grinning from ear to ear like a lunatic. 

“Something like that,” he mumbled around the smile, then started walking. 

Louis trotted along beside him, asking inane questions about Harry’s coffee tastes—_ please tell me you don’t drink that ‘bullet coffee’ nonsense, I don’t think our friendship could recover— _and by the time they reached Louis’ classroom Harry was afraid his face would get stuck in a perpetual smile.   
  
“Well, ‘spose this is me,” Louis said, gesturing to the room behind him. It looked like his class had already started, but he didn’t seem to care at all. Very punk rock. 

Harry nodded, feeling awkward for the first time in a few minutes. 

Louis studied his face for a moment, then leaned in conspiratorially. “By the way,” he whispered, and Harry lowered his head a little so he could hear him better. “It _ would _be weird if you booped my nose, but I’d let you do it anyway.”   
  
And with that, he swooped into the classroom. 

Harry was left in the hallway blinking spots away from his vision. 

* * *

Harry stared at the cones littering the practice field. 

They were set up as lines, bright neon little hats that seperated Niall and Louis from the rest of the team. 

“Oi oi!” Louis called as everyone greeted each other and started their warm up stretches. “We’re gonna do a fun drill today.”

“Fun for who?” asked Liam. 

Louis laughed and shrugged, which Harry chose to interpret as, _ me. _

Sure enough, Louis was the only person who had any fun dribbling the ball around the cones he’d set up. Harry tuned out watching Louis’ thighs in his shorts as he deftly guided the ball, somehow never managing to lose his momentum. 

Niall tried it next, and he lacked Louis’ grace but matched him in skill. 

After that, it was a shitshow. The team had always been passable at football—not great, but passable—and Louis had chosen an activity that demonstrated quite efficiently the difference between the two. 

Harry gulped when it was his turn. He knew that he’d end up on his face in three seconds flat, but Liam clapped him on the back and Jade whooped encouragingly and Louis was grinning at him like _ that _, so. He stepped up. 

_ Don’t trip, don’t trip, _he thought as he dribbled the ball. His feet worked slowly but steadily—if this had been a match he’d be an easy mark for a steal—but he made it to the end in one piece. 

He threw his hands in the air and Liam cheered. Niall shot him a supportive thumbs up.

Louis, though. He was staring at Harry consideringly, finger poised over his lips and eyes narrowed. 

“Styles,” he said, “we’re gonna have to do something about those bambi legs, aren’t we, lad?” 

Harry stared at him.

Louis turned back toward the team. “Everyone, split into pairs. I want one of you practicing dribbling and the other practicing intercepts.”

Everyone rushed to comply. Harry took a step toward the team, trying to spot someone who didn’t have a partner yet, when he was stopped by Louis’ hand on his chest. 

Harry looked down at it, at the rope tattooed around Louis’ wrist, at his delicate tendons. He gulped. 

“You’re with me, H. See if we can’t improve on your footwork.” 

Harry couldn’t think of anything he’d like _ less _ than to have one-on-one time with Louis ‘Transgender Greek God, Fittest in the Pantheon’ Tomlinson while he patiently explained everything Harry was doing wrong (and yet, he also couldn’t think of anything he’d like _ more _; a brain was a very confusing thing to have). 

“Okay,” he choked out. 

Louis patted his sternum a couple times, then tilted his head towards the only unoccupied line of cones. 

“Alright, I want you to do it with an invisible ball first,” Louis said, parking his hands on his hips. He looked unfairly attractive, standing there in his football kit and telling Harry what to do. It was the exact level of big dick energy that Harry had always been jealous of.

Harry cleared his throat and pretended to look around. “Where is it?” 

Louis let out a startled laugh. “Catch!” he giggled, miming a throw at Harry’s head. 

Harry caught the invisible ball, bounced it a few times, and then took off. This time, he tried not to worry about not tripping. 

Which, in retrospect, was exactly why he tripped. 

He blinked up at the sky—grey-blue today, some far off birds flying North—and then Louis’ head came into view. He had that narrow-eyed look on his face again. Harry’s skin crawled in shame and embarrassment. 

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” Louis said carefully. He offered Harry his hand, and Harry wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to touch him no matter how much of his dignity he lost with it.

Louis pulled him up with surprising strength, then dusted off Harry’s shoulders. 

_ There’s dust on my arse, too, _Harry thought deliriously. 

“Alright, Harold,” Louis said. He hadn’t taken his hands off Harry yet, and it was very hard to focus on anything else. “This time, try to not look at your feet. No, trust me; it’ll help, darling.” 

Harry closed his mouth and moved out of Louis’ hold mournfully. He took his place at the starting cone and glanced down at the invisible ball. 

“Uh-uh, eyes on me, lad!” Louis called. 

Harry snapped his eyes up guiltily, and Louis lowered his chin a little in response.  
  
He smiled, and Harry blinked, and his eyes were still so blue from so many metres away, and Harry wanted nothing more than to be where he was, to bury his head in Louis’ soft brown hair and be wrapped in his arms, even after the absolute clown he’d made of himself today. 

“Go,” Louis mouthed, and Harry did. 

And this time, he didn’t fall. 

* * *

“Great work today, Harold!” Louis called, wiggling his fingers in a wave.

Harry turned and waved back, watching the cute way Louis’ oversized sweater pooled at his wrists. A person shouldn’t be allowed to look so _ comfortable _all the time. Louis sent him a final smile then turned back to Niall, the two of them walking off towards the car park. 

“Sooo,” Liam drawled. “When are you gonna ask him out?”

Harry jumped. “Jesus, Liam,” he muttered. “Gave me a heart attack.”

Liam ignored him and looped a hand over his shoulders Harry caught sight of the badge—apparently Liam’d switched it out when he wasn’t looking (Harry appreciated being kept on his toes). “Well?” they prodded, steering Harry towards the stands where Harry saw Zayn loitering. 

Harry raised his hand in greeting, but Zayn had yet to look up from his phone. “The answer is, ‘when hell freezes over’.”

Liam made an affronted noise. “Zayn!” they shouted—quite unnecessarily, since they were only a few metres from him now. 

Zayn flinched, then glared at Liam. “Wot?” 

Harry tried to cover Liam’s mouth, but they laughed and ducked out of the way. “Harry refuses to ask out a fit guy who’s totally into him, you’ve gotta talk him—ouch!” They slapped Harry’s hands away, then darted close to pinch him back. 

“Liam!” Harry whined, rubbing his hip. “Not the love handles, you know how sensitive they are.”

“Does Louis know?” Liam asked. “You should tell him, he’ll love that.” 

“Louis?” Zayn asked, eyebrows raising into his hairline. 

Harry ignored him. “No, he doesn't. And he’d probably just smile and say, ‘that’s nice, Harry,’ then go back to his life of being beautiful and _ out of my league.” _

Liam shook their head. “How is he out of your league?” 

And so began the next few days of Harry’s life. 

“He’s rich enough to get top surgery and a dozen tattoos, there’s no way he’d slum it with me,” Harry slurred over beers that night at the pub. 

“And he looks like a magical pixie or something, he’s probably busy all day granting wishes to babies,” Harry mumbled over cereal the next morning. 

“He probably wants a _ real _boyfriend, y’know. Someone who’s….” he whispered to Liam over their study table at the library, then daren’t finish the thought at the chilling glare Liam sent him. 

“And maybe he _ already _ has a super fit boyfriend, and he’d kick my ass for even looking at him!” Harry huffed in between batches of FIFA on Saturday night. 

Niall looked up at that, and Harry hadn’t forgotten he was here but he _ had _forgotten to not say that out loud. “Who, Louis?” he asked, still somehow managing to stay in the lead without looking at the screen. “Nah, mate. He’s single, he told me.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Harry answered. 

“I mean, have you seen him?” he continued, and it was Sunday now and he was with Zayn doing laundry at three in the morning. “He’s—”

“Coming this way,” Zayn answered. 

“Yeah, exactly! Wait, what?” 

The door jingled open. Harry whirled around just as Louis stepped inside. He had a white turtleneck on, baggy sweatpants, fuzzy ugg boots, and a duffle bag over his shoulder with a few shirt sleeves poking out. He didn’t notice Harry and Zayn at the back of the store for a few seconds—too busy poking at a washing machine and frowning—but then he looked up. His face lit up when he saw Harry, eyes darting over his form. 

Harry gulped and imagined what he looked like in Louis’ eyes—greasy hair hidden under a backwards cap, tank top and plaid overshirt, tits-out-no-binder, pyjama pants with little turtles printed on them, and red-rimmed eyes from getting high with Zayn in his car ten minutes ago. He’d probably never talk to him again.

“Harry!” Louis said, wasting no time in walking over to him. “Bold outfit, I love it.” 

_ Huh, _ Harry thought, ducking his head to hide his grin. _ Maybe not. _

“Oh, um,” Louis said, eyes flitting between Harry and Zayn. “Hi?”

Zayn raised his eyebrows, and Harry rushed to explain. “Louis, this is my—uh, Zayn. This is Zayn.” 

Zayn snorted at his botched introduction, but smiled at Louis. “Nice to meet you, bro. Harry says you’re whipping the team into shape, yeah?” 

Louis looked taken aback, and Harry frowned. “Yeah, that’s me,” Louis said, voice coming out a little strangled. “Great at whipping.” He winced, then laughed. “Sorry, that sounded wrong. I promise I’m not whipping your boyfriend.” 

Harry’s eyes bugged out of his head. _ Boyfriend? _

Louis adjusted the strap of his bag. He looked one second away from diving headfirst into a dryer. Harry hadn’t thought someone so confident and lovely could look this awkward. “I just realised I left my kitten on. I mean—shit. Kettle. I’ll just–”

Zayn laughed. Harry turned to him, betrayed; how dare Zayn laugh at the love of his life?

“Nah, Louis. Chill. Harry isn’t my boyfriend.” 

Louis froze. The crazed look didn’t leave his eyes. “Oh?” 

Zayn nodded, and Harry followed his lead. 

Louis huffed out a laugh. “Well. Okay. Good.” He glanced at Harry and smiled sheepishly. 

“Right, I’ll just… be off, then,” Zayn said. “See you later, lads.”  
  
Harry barely remembered to wave goodbye. How could he when Louis was in front of him, and he’d panicked at the thought of Harry having a boyfriend, which meant one of two things; Louis was into Harry, or Louis was into Zayn. Wouldn’t be the first boy Harry was into that never looked twice at him once they’d been introduced to Zayn. 

There was one way to be certain. Once the door clicked shut, Harry leant against the wall of machines in a way he hoped looked casual, then said, “I can give you his number, if you want?”  
  
Louis looked up from where he was stuffing his laundry into one of the top-loaders, not even bothering to separate it all. “What for?” he asked, puzzlement creasing his face. 

Harry didn’t have a good answer for that. “No reason,” he mumbled, then tsked. “Hold on.” He stepped up beside Louis and reached into the machine, pulling out a pair of jeans he’d just shoved inside. “You should turn these inside out before you wash them.”

Louis looked up at him from beneath his eyelashes. “Thanks, curly,” he said, but with his accent it sounded more like, _ fanks, _and Harry really, really wanted to press him against the washing machine and snog the living daylights out of him. 

He took a step backwards instead, feeling his cheeks pinken. “No problem.”  
  
Louis smiled down at his laundry, shoved a final few shirts inside, slammed the lid down, and pressed a few buttons. “So, you excited for our first match next Saturday?” 

Harry smiled. “Sure.”

Louis frowned at him. “‘Sure’? Don’t sound too enthusiastic, Styles.” 

Harry shrugged. “Sorry. I just… we always lose, so I don’t like to get my hopes up.”

Louis scoffed. “I’m offended, quite frankly, that you would _ dare _ say that to my face.” He sniffed, nose high in the air and cheekiness shining out of his eyes.  
  
“My apologies,” Harry simpered. “How can I make up for this most _ grievous _offence?” 

Louis’ mouth twisted like he was trying not to smile, little wrinkles appearing around his nose. Harry had yet to boop it, which was, as far as he was concerned, a terrible oversight. 

“You could fold all my laundry?” 

Harry laughed. “I probably would’ve done that anyway, but alright. If you insist.” 

“I do, yeah,” Louis said. “But, this thing won’t be done for at least a halfa. Can you entertain me until then? I gotta warn you, love, I get bored easy.” He batted his eyelashes at Harry ridiculously, and Harry sniffed and adjusted his cap.

“I could tell you a joke?” he offered. 

Louis gave him an incredulous look. “For half an hour?” 

“I talk really slowly,” Harry said. 

Louis laughed. “Honestly, Harry, you could spend the next half hour naming all the turtles on your pants and I’d still be entertained. I was only kidding, before.” 

Harry’s stomach fluttered. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry or if he wanted to throw up, but it was probably one of those two. “Okay,” he said. He pointed at a turtle on his right thigh. “This one’s Jimothy.” 

“Right, of course,” Louis said, relaxing back against the machine, ankles crossed and arms folded over his chest. “Please continue.” 

Harry grinned, and did just that. 

* * *

Doing laundry together at three am somehow led to the promise to get coffee together the next day, which led to Louis dragging him to the skate park so he could teach Harry how to ‘use those bambi legs for something useful’, which led to Harry shyly inviting Louis to see the mid semester exhibition his photography class was putting on while Louis knelt before him and patched up his scraped knees with soft coos and Star Wars themed bandaids. 

Which led to Harry, standing in front of his mirror, naked as the day he was born and still moist from a shower, yelling out for Liam. 

“Coming!” he heard, then the handle started turning. 

“Oh, I’m naked by the way,” Harry said, not taking his eyes off his reflection. “You’re in for an eye full.”

Liam pushed open the door anyway then leaned against the doorjamb. Harry squinted at Liam’s shirt, but there wasn’t a badge on it today. 

“Pronouns?” he asked, shivering. 

“Don’t care,” Liam said. “Actually, she/her.”

“Cool,” Harry said. 

“Is there a reason you’re standing in the nude?” Liam asked mildly. 

Harry met his own gaze in the mirror again. “It’s because I’m beautiful,” he said, trying to make it sound like he meant it. “I’m gorgeous and handsome and I have really nice tits.” 

Liam nodded. She scratched at some peeling paint thoughtfully. “I heard from Niall that you and Louis are hanging out quite a bit this week.” 

Harry nodded, then frowned. “This isn’t about Louis.” 

Liam smiled kindly. “I know.” 

Harry huffed and rearranged his hair. He’d cut it short when he started socially transitioning, because he’d _ had _to or no one would listen to him that he meant it, but he’d been letting it grow out for a few months now. Within the year he’d achieve his ideal aesthetic; tarzan leaping through the trees, long tresses of hair to tastefully cover up his nipples. 

He wondered if Louis liked Tarzan. 

“Alright, it’s a little bit about Louis. But just because it’s getting chilly in hell doesn’t mean that–”

Liam waved him off. “Harry, you don’t have to justify yourself to me. Or to anyone.” 

Harry parked his hands on his hips. “Oh, _ now _she tells me,” he drawled. “I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing for the last nineteen years.”

Liam smiled automatically at Harry’s use of her pronouns—Harry recognised the look—but then she frowned. “I get it, Haz.”  
  
Harry deflated. “Yeah, know you do,” he said. He sighed and sat down on his mattress. “Can you chose me something to wear?” 

“What for?” Liam asked, already pulling open Harry’s chest of drawers and rifling through.

“I invited Louis to come to my—fuck, that hurt—photography class’ exhibition,” Harry answered, sputtering around the bright red binder that Liam had just thrown at his face.

Liam turned to stare at him, her eyes wide with excitement. “A _ date?” _

“No, it’s not–”

Liam scoffed and turned back to the drawers. 

“Fine, it _ might _be a date,” Harry admitted. He pulled the binder over his head then got stuck with it halfway on. “Fuck, um–” he wriggled ineffectually, then sighed. “Can you help me, Li?” 

Liam glanced at him over her shoulder then burst into laughter. “You’re an idiot,” she said, coming over to tug it all the way down. Harry poked his tongue out at her as he rearranged the fabric over his tits. 

“Better an idiot than bald,” he snarked, frown melting into a grin when Liam let out a full-body laugh. 

“What kind of aesthetic are you going for, hm?” she asked, shaking off her giggles to root through Harry’s trousers drawer. 

Harry looked around his floor for the cleanest pair of pants as he thought about it. “Misunderstood glam rocker who names their porcelain doll collection after French queens,” he decided. 

Liam nodded like that what she’d been expecting. “Got it. Here.” 

Harry pursed his lips at the frilly white dress shirt Liam was holding up. Liam smiled then pulled her other hand from behind her back to reveal high-waisted pants with red and orange stripes. 

“It’s perfect,” Harry said. 

Liam nodded solemnly. 

* * *

“So…” Louis trailed off, looking around the crowded, tiny room. “Which one’s yours?” 

Harry fiddled with the pussy bow on his chest, trying not to regret wearing such a sheer shirt with a firetruck-red binder. He’d yet to say a word that wasn’t ‘yeah’ since he caught sight of Louis from across the arts faculty courtyard. He was wearing a denim jacket, black skinny jeans, and a Joy Division tee. He looked like Emo Jesus, complete with messy hair and bright blue eyes and just a hint of scruff on his cheeks that was _sending_ Harry. 

“Um.” 

Louis took pity on him. “How about we go ‘round and I guess?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

“Well, they’ve got names on them,” Harry replied.

Louis sent him a sharp look. “Its got your real name on it, right?” 

Harry blinked, then grinned. He heard the unspoken, _ I’m not about to read your deadname, am I?, _where from pretty much anyone else he would have heard the opposite. 

“Yeah,” Harry said through his fond smile. “School’s really good about it.”  
  
Louis looked mollified, relaxing his shoulders. He’d looked one second away from clobbering someone on Harry’s behalf, which wasn’t really helping Harry’s nerves. Every time he thought he maybe had a chance—at love, at being enough, at not monumentally cocking this up—Louis did something else to prove just how perfect he was and Harry had to rebuild his confidence from scratch. 

“Just checking,” Louis said. “My name’s been legally changed since I was 17, I’ve never really had to deal with the kind of shit I’ve heard horror stories about.” 

_ Fuck you, _ Harry thought, closely followed by, _ I’m sorry I didn’t mean that I’m so happy for you. _

He cleared his throat. He was saved from having to reply by the appearance of his photography teacher. 

“Harry! Lovely to see you,” she beamed. “I’ve just been talking to some of the other teachers about your work, it’s making quite the impression.”

Harry blushed and ducked his head. 

“Of course it is,” Louis said. He stuck his hand out with a polite smile. “I’m Louis.” 

Her eyebrows raised, but she looked more intrigued than put out. “Holly,” she said, taking Louis’ hand. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise,” smiled Louis. He turned back to Harry. “Shall we, love?” 

Harry nodded and waved goodbye to an amused looking Holly as Louis dragged him away.   
  
“She seemed great, Harry, but I want to actually _ see _it before I get any more spoilers,” Louis shot over his shoulder. 

Harry laughed and pulled his hand from Louis’ grip so he could nervously tangle their fingers together. “Well, you’re going the wrong way,” he quipped. 

Louis, for once, had nothing to say. He just stared at their hands until Harry pulled them to a stop.   
  
“Oh, sorry,” he said, finally registering what Louis was reacting to. He dropped his hand then wiped his sweaty palm off on his trousers. 

“It’s alright,” Louis said, finally looking up. He smiled a private smile at Harry, then turned his attention forwards. 

Harry tucked his hands behind his back as he watched Louis’ eyes travel over his work, snapping from photo to photo critically. He waited for Louis to take them all in before he spoke. 

“The project was about privacy—we were supposed to make a work that responded to that concept, and what it means in this day and age. It—um. It got me thinking about what it means to be transgender in public, to have people looking at you every day and assuming they understand your gender identity from a glance. It’s something we all do, without thinking. And I wanted to explore how alienating and invasive that process can be for gnc and trans people, maybe flip the script a little—does that make sense?”

Louis was watching him, rapt. He nodded mutely. 

Harry smiled weakly. “So, this series is called, ‘She’.” He looked at his collection—twenty two photographs, printed into glossy A5 paper. It was an overwhelming collection of data; no two photos were the same. There was a park in one corner, sun and trees and the blurry back of two people walking briskly away. There was his apartment, Liam standing across their kitchen table with a contrite look on their face. There was a classroom full of students; a grocery clerk scanning a loaf of bread; a lost tourist with a selfie stick; and so many more. Harry cleared his throat before he finished his explanation. “For two months, I took a photo every time I got misgendered.”

Louis sucked in a breath. “Fuck.”

Harry sent him a worried glance.

Louis looked lost, taking in the images again with new eyes. “I’m sorry, Hazza,” he said, meeting Harry’s gaze again. “It’s a really powerful artwork, but it still sucks.” 

Harry shrugged, tongue tying up in his mouth as he tried to explain himself. He stopped trying after a moment, shoulders slumping. “Thanks,” he said. 

Louis stepped closer to him, something fierce and powerful in the way he moved. Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to lean into him or shrink away. 

“Harry,” Louis whispered. Harry stared at his collarbones, and Louis tsked in frustration. He lifted himself on his tiptoes and placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry looked up with wide eyes, unable to stop himself from resting his hands on Louis’ waist to steady him. Louis looked between his eyes like he would find something in them, then continued. “Just because I’ve been on T for years doesn’t mean I don’t get it, yeah? I know I look—_ passing–” _he spat the word out like a curse, “–but I’m still just like you. Other people hold my gender in their hands every single day, and that can be lonely as fuck or absolutely validating depending on the context. I think your work is wonderful, and I think you’re really brave, yeah?”

Harry did nothing but blink and struggle to pull oxygen into his lungs. 

“Thanks,” he said, once his lips remembered how to form words. And this time, he meant it. 

Louis let him go, a warm smile taking over his face. Harry willed himself not to cry. “You’re welcome, love,” he said. Then, he offered Harry his hand. “Come on, I wanna see what everyone else did. Bet they’re not as good as yours.” He wiggled his fingers until Harry giggled and dropped his hand on top of Louis’. Louis’ lips pinched when their skin met, like he was trying to contain a grin. 

“Okay,” Harry said. He let himself get carried away with a wonderful boy for the rest of the day.

* * *

“Huddle up, team!” Niall ushered everyone forwards. 

Harry laughed as Perrie jostled into him, Liam on his other side. The team formed a tight circle, heads all craning towards their two captains. 

“Alright,” Louis said. “Who are we?” 

“Queers!” everyone chorused. There were more than a few heads turned on the stands behind them, but none of them noticed or cared. 

“And what are we going to do?” Niall yelled.  
  
“Win!” 

“And when are we going to do it?” shouted Louis.

“Now!”  
  
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Louis grinned, patting the backs of everyone next to him. “I believe in all of you. We’re gonna fucking crush this.” 

With that, the huddle disbanded. Everyone began their pregame stretches as the rival team did the same from across the pitch. Harry turned and scanned the crowd. 

“Who you looking for, Harold?”

Harry jumped, then laughed. “Zayn. I made him come to support me.” 

Louis laughed, crinkles appearing by his eyes. “Sounds like you kidnapped him.” 

Harry shrugged, leaning closer. “Me? Never.” He placed a hand on his chest and pouted. 

“Yeah, coz you’re so innocent,” Louis teased, poking Harry in the soft fleshy part of his stomach. 

Harry doubled over dramatically. “Oof, I’ve been _ shot.” _

Louis giggled—honest to god _ giggled. _“Sorry.”

Harry straightened up and sniffed. He adjusted his hair tie—he’d pulled his fringe out of his face for the game, tying it up in a tiny little bun. Louis followed his hands with his eyes.

“Cute,” he commented. “Don’t forget you owe me a fiver if we win today.” 

Harry’s eyes widened. “When did I agree to that?” 

Louis shrugged. “Just now.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “How about I just take you out for ice cream instead,” he challenged. 

Louis looked stunned. 

Harry stilled. _ Shit, _ he thought, eyes drying but unable to blink. _ Did I just ask Louis Tomlinson out? _

Louis cleared his throat. 

_ He thinks I asked him out, fuck, quick, say something— _

“Sure,” Louis said. He swayed on his feet for a moment, having seemingly recovered his faculties. Harry wished he could say the same. “But if we _ lose, _then I have to take you out for frozen yoghurt instead.” 

Harry opened and closed his mouth. “Guess we’d better win, then,” he choked out. “Froyo is the worst.” 

Louis nodded. He opened his mouth to reply. 

“Oi! Will you lads stop flirting? We’ve got a game to play,” Niall called. 

Harry looked up and cursed. Everyone was taking their positions on the field already. 

Louis sent him a look—raised eyebrows, cheeky grin—then he was off. Harry watched him go for a moment then took off after him. 

He had a game to win. 

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, and the score was tied. 

Harry was frankly _ delighted, _because a tie was much better than he could’ve hoped for. It was all thanks to Louis; he was a beast on the field, and between his aggressive offense and Niall’s nigh-impenetrable defense they’d managed to hold the rest of the team above water. 

Liam was doing his best on goal, and Harry was doing his best to stay out of the way. 

He managed to do pretty well at that until the last few minutes of the game. Jesy pulled off a swift intercept just before the opposition was about to make a shot at their goal, and in a blink she’d passed the ball to Jade, who passed it to Louis. 

Harry started running before he could even think, parallel with Louis as they sprinted towards the other end of the pitch. Louis only made it three quarters of the way before he was swarmed with the opposing team’s defense—he’d scored all three of their goals in this match, they knew better than to leave him open. Louis dodged as best he could, but he was still blocked from the goal. He cast his eyes around frantically, and he spotted Harry. 

Usually when someone on the team spotted Harry open for a pass, they made a sort of, ‘_ well… If I have to’ _face. Harry was fully expecting that from Louis; he’d seen him at practice, after all. 

But Louis didn’t do that. He saw Harry open (wide open; the benefit of not doing anything all game was that defense had stopped caring about him, there was nothing between him and the goal except a distracted goalie), and he fucking _ beamed. _

“Harry!” he called, and that was all the warning Harry got before the ball was soaring towards him. Harry didn’t let himself think—he acted on instinct, bouncing the ball on his knee with a painful _ thuck _, then taking off towards the goal. 

_ Please. _His pulse quickened, the defense surrounding Louis pivoted on their feet, and the ground was solid beneath his feet. 

_ Don’t. _He was within range of the goal, he reared his foot back to kick, the goalie turned their head towards him, eyes wide. 

_ Trip. _The ball flew towards the goal, defense was on top of him, the goalie dived through the air—their fingertips made contact with the edge of the ball—but it was too late. The net ballooned out from impact. 

A whistle blew, and Harry was left blinking at the neon yellow ball that was now rolling innocently along the ground. 

His first goal in a year and a half. 

“Hazza!” He looked over the heads of the grumbling rival team to find Louis jogging towards him with a proud smile on his face. Niall and Liam were behind him, neither of whom seemed to care about resetting. Louis shoved everyone out of his way, and then Harry had two sweaty arms around his neck and he was struggling to breathe through all the sweet-smelling hair in his face. 

“Hi,” he said, leaning down a little so he could wrap his arms around Louis’ middle. His breath expanded his ribs into Louis’ chest, skin separated by sweat and polyester, and Harry wondered if he’d ever felt so _ safe _before. “Did you see that?” 

Louis bounced on his toes. “You smashed it,” he yelled, right into Harry’s ear. 

“Fuck yeah, he did!” Niall crowed, piling into the hug. 

“So proud of you, Harry!” Liam added, arms wrapping around his other side.   
  
“Thanks,” Harry breathed out, crushed by all his friends and loving it. 

A whistle interrupted the hug, and everyone raced back to their starting positions. The opposing team fought well for the remainder of the game, but Harry’s goal had inspired a new vigour in his team—their was _ no _way they were letting their first real shot at winning out of their grasp now. 

And so, when the ref called time, the final score remained four to three. 

* * *

Harry should’ve known this would happen. 

All it took was a single too-loud comment from Louis in the locker room—_ should I claim that ice cream you owe me now or later, Harold?— _ for the entire rest of the team to decide that they would _ die _if they didn’t have ice cream that very instant. 

Harry shuffled in his seat, trying to find space for his arms. He was squeezed between Louis and Leigh-Anne in a corner booth at the first shop they could find that sold ice cream, and Zayn was sitting across from him. He had his arm draped over Niall, and he didn’t look very pleased at being dragged to such a _ crowded _celebration. 

_ Sorry, _Harry mouthed to him. 

Zayn shrugged, stuffed a tiny plastic spoon heaped with dark chocolate ice cream into his mouth, then sent a meaningful glance towards Louis. 

Harry frowned at him. He glanced at Louis as well, only to find Louis already looking at him. 

“This wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Louis said, leaning in to be heard over the chatter in the booth. “So, you still owe me.” 

“For what?” Harry laughed. “I scored the winning goal!”

Louis huffed. “Exactly! You owe me for all that pessimism of yours. I was right, wasn’t I?” 

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, zoning out as Louis took a gulp from his thickshake. “You were.” 

Louis smiled at him. He licked a drop of his shake off his lip—not fair, Harry wanted to do that—then placed his hand on Harry’s leg. 

Harry stiffened reflexively, sirens going off behind his eyelids. _ Louis’ hand. Louis’ hand on my leg. There’s fingers on my upper thigh. Fingers that belong to Louis. Help. _

Louis seemed to notice his reaction, but he didn’t take his hand away. Instead, he opened his mouth to say something. It probably would’ve been important, judging by the look in his eyes. 

But Harry’s bodily awareness was kicked up to one hundred, and as such he became aware of a _ situation _in his briefs. And not the good, Louis-induced kind.

“Fuck,” he cursed, jumping up. He grabbed his bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder. “I have to—um.” The team’s eyes turned towards him, drawn by the sudden movement. They awaited his explanation, curiosity drowning out the hurt on Louis’ face. “Toilet! I’ll be right back.”

He turned before anyone could say anything, marching towards the men’s bathroom with purpose. He pushed the door open, nodded to a middle-aged bloke at the urinal who’d barely glanced his way, then piled himself into a cubicle. 

He closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer to the universe that what he thought was happened wasn’t _ actually _ happening, because that would be shitty fucking timing. Surely his luck wasn’t _ that _bad. 

But the second he sat down for a piss, he saw that it was. 

“Fuck, I hate my uterus,” he said, poking himself in the abdomen. “You’re the worst, you know that?” he hissed, poking again. “If you weren’t so expensive to remove, you’d be _ outta here.” _

There was a loud squeaking sound as the door to the bathroom was pushed open. 

“Evening,” someone said, and there was a grunt in response, then the door swung open and shut once more. 

Harry groaned under his breath, leaning his head back to thunk against the wall. He recognised that scratchy-sweet voice; who else would be _ lovely _ and _ annoying _ and _ perfect _ and _ life ruining _enough to chase after their flighty friend into a bathroom. 

“Harry?” Louis called. His sneakers made a soft noise against the tile floor as he ventured further into the bathroom. “Hazza? You in here, love?”

Harry wished with all his heart for the toilet beneath him to open up and swallow him. When that didn’t happen, he cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he replied shakily. “‘M in here."

The sneaker noises paused, then started up again. They got louder and louder until two scuffed shoes came into view from the other side of the door. Harry stared at the knots in Louis’ shoelaces—very secure, triple-tied, Harry was impressed.

“Are you alright?” Louis asked, feather-soft. 

“Yeah, just—” Harry sniffed. “Give me a sec?”  
  
Louis rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Sure thing, I’ll be right outside.”

Harry waited for the noise of the door to swing shut to let out the breath he’d been holding. 

A few minutes later, after Harry had cleaned himself up, splashed some water on his face, and given himself a very stern talking to, Harry exited the bathroom. 

Louis looked up from the wall opposite, hurrying to shove his phone into his pocket. His eyes scanned over Harry’s body as he stepped forwards. He had a strange look on his face again—like he was ready to fight someone on Harry’s behalf, even if that person was himself. 

_ I’m not in love with him, _ Harry told himself, _ because that would be stupid and self-destructive. _

But he didn’t really believe it. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, shuffling his feet. 

“Hey,” Louis answered. “Can I ask what’s wrong?” 

Harry shrugged. He made an effort—a mighty effort, like Sysiphus and his bloody rock—to keep his voice steady and unembarrassed when he answered, “I got my period.”

Louis’ face cleared. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s the worst, I hated those.”

Harry hadn’t been expecting Louis to be weird about it—really, he hadn’t—but it was still somehow a surprise to see the judgement-free empathy on his face. 

“Yeah,” Harry laughed, scratching at his arm. “Always make me feel really weird, like–”

“–Like there’s been some kind of cosmic fuck up?” Louis finished. 

“That’s not was I was gonna say, actually,” Harry sniffed, aiming for levity. 

“Oh, yeah?” Louis teased, coming closer—_ closer, not shying away, not running screaming— _ “well, let’s hear it.”

Harry shook his head, the beginnings of a grin pulling at his cheeks. “Nah, yours was better.” 

Louis opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by a call from across the restaurant. 

“Oi! Lads!” 

Their heads snapped towards the booth. The team looked to be packing up their things, and Niall, Liam, and Zayn were beckoning them over. 

“Wanna come out for a pint?” Niall asked once Harry and Louis had reached the table. 

Harry was just about to answer in the negative when Louis beat him to it. 

“Actually, Harry’s feeling a little poorly, so I was just gonna take him home and look after ‘im. You should go ahead, though!” He smiled a friendly smile and slung his arm around Harry’s waist. 

Harry had already forgotten the excuse he’d been planning on using, but it was just as well; with Louis’ hand curling protectively against his hip like that, his lips couldn’t remember how to do anything except smile. 

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Niall pouted. 

“Yeah,” Zayn added, raising his eyebrows at Harry. 

Harry poked his tongue out at him, and Zayn giggled. 

“Right, well,” Louis said, looking between the two of them suspiciously. Harry could tell he thought he’d missed something, so he patted Louis’ hand in apology. “We’re off, then.” 

Harry waved goodbye to his friends and let himself be dragged from the shop. “You brought your car, right?” Louis asked, motioning to the crowded car park. 

Harry nodded, fumbling with his keys. “Where am I taking us?” 

Louis sent him a look that told him exactly how stupid he thought that question was. “Your place, Harold. Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m looking after you.” 

Harry rolled his eyes as he pulled the driver’s side door of his car open. “Not a child, Louis,” he protested. 

What he really wanted to say was, _ please please please take care of me for the rest of my entire life— _but. He didn’t fancy anyone feeling sorry for him, and he especially couldn’t handle it from Louis. 

Louis huffed, wriggling in the passenger seat until he was comfortable. It took a few seconds, since Harry’s upholstery was a little on the lumpy side. “No shit, H. Stop arguing, I’ve already decided. It’s hot chocolate and pats for you tonight, doctor’s orders.” 

Harry laughed. “Louis Tomlinson, PhD. Footballer by day, medical practitioner by night.” 

Louis cranked up the radio with a laugh. The alt-pop stylings of _ Bleachers _filled the car to the brim, almost ready to burst. “You’re goddamn right!” Louis yelled over the music. 

Harry shook his head and sung along. 

* * *

“Wait, you’re _ actually _making me hot chocolate?” Harry stopped in his tracks. 

Louis looked up from the counter, hand stilling from where he’d been mixing two mugs of steaming milk and cocoa powder. For a moment they just stared at each other—Louis, still in his post-football outfit of comfy sweats and fuzzy socks, and Harry, damp from a shower in nothing but a loose concert tee and boxer shorts. 

Then Louis recovered, blinking a few times and resuming his task. “Harold, think of it from _ my _ perspective for a minute, will you?” he said, voice oddly musical in the silence of the apartment. “Me favourite comrade in the war against the dreaded Cis Agenda–” Harry barked out a laugh, and Louis shot him a smile before continuing, “–scores his first goal, then our date gets crashed by a dozen sweaty assholes, and _ then _he gets his period. It’s a lot of ups and downs, yeah? I think we deserve hot chocolate.” Louis lifted the mugs and clinked them against each other cutely.

But Harry was in no position to process how cute it was, because. Because. “Uhh–” he stammered, clutching the nearest object, which happened to be the countertop. “That was a date?” 

Louis’ face fell. He put down the mugs slowly, as if waiting for Harry to take his question back. When Harry proved incapable of doing anything except stare at him like a serial killer, he chuckled nervously. “Sorry, I guess I… misread that. I’ll just—” he moved to walk past Harry towards the door, but Harry caught him by the shoulders before he could. 

Louis stopped instantly, glancing down at Harry’s hands on his shirt. “Harry?” he choked out. He sounded—well. Harry hated to even think it, but he sounded heartbroken. 

So, Harry did the first thing he could think of to fix it. He leant forwards, slid one of his hands into Louis’ hair like he’d been _ dreaming _of doing, and pressed his lips against his. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Louis made a noise against him—half moan, half unintelligible question—and stumbled closer. His hands came up to frame Harry’s face delicately, but the things he was doing with his tongue were _ far _from delicate. Harry groaned in response, fingers tugging on Louis’ hair, and the next thing he knew he was being shoved against the counter.

The mugs let out a loud _ clink _at the sudden movement, and the noise seemed to startle Louis out of his trance. He pulled backwards, craning his neck to spot the offending ceramics. 

“Louuuu,” Harry whined, looping his hands around his waist. “Come back.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis answered distantly. He leaned back in then stopped and pulled himself out of Harry’s hold. “Wait—no, hold on. What?” He squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in cute little tufts. “I’m so confused, Harry.”

Harry cleared his throat, turning his head away to stare at the mugs on the countertop. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I mean… me, too, actually.” He lifted the mugs up carefully and held one out to Louis with a hopeful smile.  
  
Louis eyed him cautiously. He looked about one sudden move away from bolting, but he accepted Harry’s offering. 

Harry watched him as he took a sip from his own mug. The hot chocolate slithered down his throat and settled in his stomach, smooth and warm. “So, that was supposed to be a date?”

He was aiming for a casual tone, but Louis stiffened nonetheless. “Yes,” he answered, taking a gulp then wincing. 

Harry tutted. “Did you burn your tongue?” 

“No,” Louis said, obviously lying. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Apparently I have bigger problems; namely, that I can’t ask a cute guy on a date without confusing him. I mean–” he let out a strangled laugh, waving his hand through the air, “–I knew I was bad at dating, but this has to be a new low.” 

“Hey!” Harry butted in, brow furrowed. “How do you think I feel? Turns out the hot bloke who I thought was out of my league asked me on a date and I didn’t even realise. There’s room in this pity party for two, pal.”  
  
Louis huffed. “Well, we’re both idiots, then!” he exclaimed. 

“Clearly!” Harry snapped. 

“So, to be clear!” Louis asked, keeping up the loud-frustrated tone. “I really fucking like you and I’d like to be your boyfriend.” 

“Well, good!” Harry shot back, crowding into Louis’ space. “Because I would love that!”  
  
“Great!” 

“Wonderful!” 

Louis opened his mouth, then sighed as the manic energy seemed to leave him. “Can we just kiss now?” 

Harry nodded frantically, draining his hot chocolate and ignoring Louis’ laughter. He made sure to shut him up a moment later with a kiss. 

* * *

They’d managed to make it as far as the couch before the door was thrown open. 

“–what I told him! Woah, Harry?” 

Harry refused to turn and look. He knew he’d see Liam and Zayn (and maybe Niall) standing in the doorway gawking at him. So, he buried his face in Louis’ neck instead. 

“_Tommo?” _

Yep. That was definitely Niall. 

Louis laughed into his ear. He moved his hands from Harry’s waist to wrap around his torso, somehow remaining balanced enough to support Harry’s weight and stare over his shoulder. 

“What’s happening?” Louis asked. “Have a nice time at the ice cream shop?”

Harry wriggled further into Louis’ embrace. It was impossible to care about anything else that was happening at that moment, when he was _ on top of Louis Tomlinson. _

Okay, maybe there was something worth caring about. 

Harry pushed himself up and out of Louis’ hold so he could interrupt Zayn’s bland reply with a blinding grin and a, “Louis and I are boyfriends.” 

Louis giggled behind him, and a second later Harry felt his arms close around his waist from behind. 

“Oh?” choked Niall. 

Zayn was rubbing at his eyes. 

Liam was the only one who looked happy for him, insultingly enough. But, Harry missed whatever they said next. He was far too busy squealing and batting at Louis’ hands.   
  
“Stop, I’ve got cramps,” he got out between laughs. “You’ll _ kill _me.” 

Louis snorted but held his hands up in surrender.  
  
Harry sat up slowly, a grin spreading on his face. 

“What are you up to, Harold,” Louis asked, leaning away from him. 

Harry pounced. If he thought _ he _was ticklish, he was nothing compared to Louis. 

Niall, Liam, and Zayn watched from the doorway, wincing at every blown raspberry and battle cry.   
  
“Is this a kink thing?” Liam asked, shuddering through a full-body grimace. 

“You know, I think we should maybe come back later,” Niall said slowly. 

He started backing out of the doorway, and Zayn and Niall followed. 

“It’s like watching a lion eat a gazelle,” Zayn whispered. They were well and truly in the hallway now, and all they could see of the couch was the occasional errant limb.

Niall nodded. “Except they’re both the gazelle. And the lion.” 

Liam slammed the door shut. 

* * *

“How much longer am I standing like this?” Harry asked, taking great pains not to move his head as he spoke. 

Zayn grunted from across the room. He was dotting away at a huge piece of wood in front of him. Harry had helped him drag it in from off the street, but he was starting to regret that as it reached the twenty minute mark of being Zayn’s pose reference. 

“Zayn…” Harry whined. “I really have to scratch my nose.” 

“You should’ve thought of that before you talked my ear off about Louis all morning,” Zayn answered. He’d yet to look up from his work. 

Harry frowned. He dropped his pose, took a step forward, and crossed his arms. “Are you even painting me?” 

Zayn snickered. “Nup.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Cruel,” he accused. “Cruel and unusual.”

Zayn beckoned him over. 

Harry rolled his eyes at him and considered walking out the door instead. 

Zayn looked up finally and jutted out his bottom lip. 

“Fuck you.” Harry marched over. He took in what Zayn had been working on—mostly colours at this point, but considering how blocked he’d been with his painting project colours was better than nothing. “Looks cool.” 

Zayn nodded, then grabbed his hand. “Here,” he said, whacking Harry’s open palm onto the wet paint. 

Harry laughed, wiggling his fingers. “Alright, I forgive you,” he said. 

Zayn smiled at him then let his hand got. “Give me a handprint, H.” He held out the front of his plain white tee expectantly. 

Harry happily obliged, slapping his paint-messy palm straight onto the shirt. “Is this part of it or just for fun? I can’t tell.” 

Zayn shrugged, then giggled when Harry poked him in the stomach one last time. “Both, or neither. Who knows.”

Harry snorted and wiped off the rest of the paint on a paper towel. “Art!” he cried, lifting his fist into the air. 

Zayn nodded, then turned back to the painting. 

Harry sat on Zayn’s unused stool and watched him for as long as he could stand before bursting. “Was I really talking about Louis that much?” 

Zayn shot him a look over his shoulder. “Yes.”

Harry drooped. 

Zayn sighed and darted close to dash a streak of bright yellow across Harry’s cheek. “Chin up, babes. I’m only teasing. I think its cute.” 

Harry batted him off. “I know, but. I really care about him, you know? And every time I care about something it kinda–”

“–gets taken from you? Like a child with a stuffed toy? _ Monkey stole my spoon _?” 

Harry shot him a look. 

“That’s how you sound, Harry!” Zayn defended. 

“You don’t have to kick a man when he’s down.” Harry sniffed. 

Zayn turned his back on him again. “You’re not down, though, babes. You’ve landed the super fit lad that you’ve been whining my ear off about, yeah? Don’t tell me the honeymoon period has worn off already; it’s been what, three days?” 

Harry sighed. “Three wonderful days.” 

“Uh huh,” Zayn mumbled, sticking his paintbrush in his mouth and smudging the paint around Harry’s handprint with his thumb. “Soquidwaiddmm.” 

Harry laughed. “How is it I understood what you just said?” 

Zayn shrugged. “Mmsowelddsppuuukn.” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Harry checked his phone, grinned, and hopped off the stool. “Well, I’ve actually got places to be, if you don’t need my modelling skills.” 

Zayn waved him off vacantly. Harry knew the look; he’d been lost to the paint sauce. 

“Bye!” he tried, to no reaction. 

He snorted, gathered his things, and spent the walk to the coffee shop Louis’d just texted him to meet at trying to follow Zayn’s advice.

_ Don’t overthink don’t overthink—just because he’s perfect doesn’t mean he’s lying to you about liking you back, you’re being ridiculous—no, stop, that’s definitely overthinking— _

“Harry!” 

Harry grinned and turned. 

Louis stood behind him with a grin on his handsome face and two take-away coffees in his handsome hands. “Here,” he said, handing one over. “Thought we could go for a walk through the park together? Is that a good date idea? I only ask because I’m horrifically, tragically awful at this.” His eyes sparkled hopefully. 

All the thoughts in Harry’s head cleared away—the clatter, the noise, the cacophony of it all—and all that was left was a single feeling:

_ I’m so in love with him._

He took the coffee with the steady, paint-stained fingers of his left hand and then claimed Louis’ hand with his right before he could take it back. “That sounds like a wonderful date idea,” he answered.   
  
“Yeah?” Louis asked. “Sick. Love the paint on your cheek by the way, ‘s very artsy.”

Harry resisted the urge to rub it off, both because Louis’d already complimented it and because doing so would require letting go of his hand. 

“Thanks, I forgot that was there,” he said, ducking his head. 

Louis smiled at him and started walking. Harry copied, grinning into his coffee when Louis started swinging their hands along to the tune he was humming. 

Louis stopped humming once they’d reached the park. “You excited for our next game?” he sent Harry a playful glare. “And no pessimism this time, Harold. I won’t have it.” 

Harry laughed brightly. “We’re going to score a hundred points,” he said, gesturing with his coffee. “And then we’ll be crowned ‘Bestest Football Team Ever’ by the Queen.”

“Of course, yeah. Little old Lizzie loves coming to university football matches, ‘specially the B teams.” 

“She does!” Harry grinned. “She’s in the stands with my mum every week!”

“Your mum comes to all of them, does she?” Louis squinted at him as he took a sip. 

Harry bit his lip. “Not so much lately. She used to, but then kept losing and I might have told her to stop coming…”

Louis shot him a look. 

Harry poked his tongue out. 

Louis shook his head in disappointment. 

Harry nudged him off the pathway, and Louis sputtered and stumbled through a patch of dry leaves. 

“Oi!” 

Harry laughed, and then he saw Louis’ expression—competitiveness, playful anger, a kitten about to take a bite out of an innocent finger—and that was all the warning he get before Louis plucked the coffee from Harry’s hand and tripped him into the pile of leaves. 

“Fuck!”

Harry hit the ground with a loud crunch, and he stared up at the empty tree branches above vacantly. 

“Harry?” 

Louis had the audacity to look concerned about him. 

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever,” Harry pouted. Then, he spread his arms and legs and started to make a leaf angel. “Actually, this isn’t so bad.”

Louis snorted out a laugh. He took it upon himself to take a seat on Harry’s stomach, and Harry stared up at him lovingly as he took a gulp of Harry’s coffee. 

“Hey,” Harry, trying and failing to muster up offense. “That’s mine.” 

“Is it?” Louis asked. “Hadn’t noticed.” Another gulp. 

Harry jutted his bottom lip out. 

Louis’ poker face broke, and he giggled. “That’s what you get for calling me a shit boyfriend, I don’t know what else to tell you, love.” 

Harry sat up, carefully adjusting Louis in his lap. He pressed his lips to Louis’, tasting the bitter coffee on his tongue. Louis relaxed into the kiss, and then a moment later he was very _ unrelaxed _because of the handful of dry leaves Harry had shoved down the back of his shirt. 

“What the–” 

Harry took the coffee’s from Louis’ hands with a laugh as Louis tried to shake all the leaves out of his knitted sweater. “Payback,” he shrugged, then winced at all the squirming Louis was doing trying to rid himself of leaves. “Get off me.”

Louis made an indignant noise. “_Get off me _,” he parrotted. “Says the man who just shoved leaves down me shirt.” 

Harry put the coffees down so he could help Louis up. He wriggled his hands under Louis’ jumper, cold fingers pressing into the skin of Louis’ back. He frowned in concentration as he pulled out the last couple leaves. Louis’ breath was warm on his cheek, and his fond smile was warmer still. 

“Better?” Harry asked once he was done.   
  
Louis leaned up and nudged his nose against Harry’s. It was too loving a gesture for Harry’s squirming insides to deal with; he shivered, and he wasn’t sure what kind of face he made but whatever it was it made Louis laugh. 

“I promise not to trip you into leaves again,” Louis said, tracing his fingers up Harry’s shoulders, “if you promise not to shove leaves down my jumper.” 

Harry nodded. “Alright. But you’ve also got to promise that if I invite my mum to our next game she won’t have to watch her son get his arse handed to him.” 

Louis wrinkled his nose. “I promise to do me best, how’s that?” 

“Perfect.” 

Harry couldn’t help but kiss him again, and then they were off down the path once more, hands swinging between them, sharing childhood stories and hopes for the future. Harry only realised he’d left their coffees behind several hours after the date had ended. 

* * *

Harry’s mum didn’t end up watching him lose. It was another month before she could make it to a game, and Harry was sure that their winning streak would end just because she was there to see it. But, alas, his pessimism was proven wrong, and she and Gemma—who Harry hadn’t invited but had turned up anyway to embarrass him—cheered from the sidelines, watching as Harry’s team scored goal after goal. 

Louis came up to him after the game before he could go over to them. He wrapped Harry up in a hug from behind and hooked his face over his sweaty shoulder.

“You gonna introduce me?” he asked in that special tone of voice that sounded teasing but really wasn't. 

Harry followed his eye line to where Gemma and his mum were standing, chatting amongst themselves. They had plans to go out to dinner after, and Harry would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about inviting Louis along. A lot.

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t, in the end; if he had his reasons, he couldn’t remember them now, with Louis hanging off his shoulder and blowing a raspberry into his neck until Harry giggled and ducked away. 

“Yeah, I am,” Harry decided. He caught Louis’ hand and started tugging him across the field, ignoring Louis’ protests about how smelly he was. 

He regretted his decision an hour later, when the gleam that had been in Gemma’s eye (which had been there since the moment she’d spotted Louis hanging off Harry’s arm) manifested as a walk down memory lane—specifically, a lane called ‘Harry’s Most Embarrassing Childhood Moments’. She had Louis in stitches and Harry hiding his face in a napkin. 

When they were saying goodbye outside the restaurant, Anne pulled Harry aside into a tight hug. 

“He seems lovely, darling,” she whispered, squeezing him tight. It was higher praise than any of Harry's past romantics attempts had ever gotten. “He’s almost good enough for you.”

"Oh, careful there, Anne. That’ll go to me head,” Louis snarked.

Harry and Anne pulled apart, and Harry’s mum grinned at Louis. “No offence, dear, it’s just–”

“No one could be good enough for ‘im,” Louis finished, the cheekiness in his face fading into sincerity. “I agree, but I do my best.”

Harry ducked his head and ran his hand through his hair, completely missing the nod of understanding that passed between Louis and his mum. 

“C’mon, babe,” Louis said, waving goodbye to Gemma as he pulled Harry towards his car. “Time to go home. Aw, quit your blushing.” 

Harry shook his head and allowed himself to be shepherded into the driver’s seat of the car.

“I’m driving?” Harry asked, buckling himself in as Louis hopped around and did the same. 

“Yep, so’s I can do this,” Louis explained, shuffling his seat backwards comically. Once it was all the way back, he parked his dirty vans on Harry’s dashboard then waggled his eyebrows at Harry’s judging expression. 

“You’re lucky you’re handsome,” Harry pouted, pulling out onto the street. The night was warm, so he rolled down the windows to let the breeze play with his curls. 

Louis guffawed. “_Handsome?” _

Harry nodded very seriously. “And rugged,” he said, motioning to Louis’ facial hair. “Quite manly.” 

Louis threw his head back and laughed. “See–” he choked out, still snickering, “from anybody else I’d be offended by that.” 

Harry shook his head and cranked the radio up. 

Louis darted across and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then settled back into his seat to loudly shout the words to songs Harry had never heard out the window. 

Harry watched him with a smile when he could. Road safety was _ important, _alright? Well, unimportant enough to ignore occasionally so he could stare at his gorgeous boyfriend but important enough to not pay attention to the buzzing of his phone in his pocket until he was safely parked out the front of his building. 

**Leemo: **saw you taking Louis out to dinner with ur fam after the game! Get in

**Leemo: **I’m crashing with Z for the night so ;) the flat’s all urs ;)

Harry rolled his eyes as he scrolled past the string of lewd emojis Liam had sent.

“What?” Louis asked.

“Oh, it’s just Liam. Apparently he’s staying with Zayn tonight.”

Louis hummed. “Interesting,” he mused. “Hey, H? Look at me for a mo, will you?” 

Harry looked up from his phone obediently, then squawked out a laugh at the exaggerated wink Louis gave him. “You’re just as bad as he is,” Harry accused. 

Louis leaned back in his seat, an angelic expression on his face. 

“Can’t fool me,” Harry said, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car. 

Louis did the same. He met Harry round the front of the car and captured his hand, holding it hostage in a prison made from his own much smaller one. (_ Advantage: Harry, _is what he would have thought if he was actually keeping score.)

“Might need that to open the door,” Harry commented. He swung their joined hands together like he’d always wanted to do—it looked so fun when other people did it. He wasn’t disappointed; it was everything he’d hyped it up to be, especially for the way it made Louis laugh. 

Louis wiggled the fingers of his spare hand in front of Harry’s face as they stepped through the door into Harry’s building. “You can just use mine, darling.” 

“Is that how it works?” Harry asked. He took the steps two at a time, dragging a giggling Louis behind him. 

“Definitely! Here, watch,” Louis said—not even sounding slightly winded, the bastard—and snatched the keys from Harry’s hand. 

He shoved them in the door, ignoring Harry’s offended expression. He turned the handle, and Harry pushed the door open the rest of the way. 

“See?” Louis asked, chucking the keys back at Harry, who fumbled to catch them. “Who needs two hands?” 

“Reckon we could play footy like this?” Harry kicked the door closed then placed his keys on the little table next to it while Louis toed off his shoes. 

Louis sent him a grin, spinning round to face him. “Absolutely! And you know what else we could do like this?” He leaned closer, and Harry could smell the mint-chocolate ice cream he’d had for dessert on his breath. 

Harry squeezed his hand. “What’s that?” 

Louis smiled, and Harry realised how dark it was in his flat—the only light was the moon shining through the open curtains, and a diffused glow from the streetlight down the road. Louis looked wonderful in moonlight; of course he did. 

Louis looked wonderful always. 

“We could have sex,” Louis whispered, like it was a game they could play; a prank they could pull on some unsuspecting passerby; a fun schoolyard secret. 

Harry choked. Louis looked concerned for a moment, then a frightening vulnerability stole over his features. It was a look Harry recognised from their first unofficial date—Louis standing there in his kitchen, holding two mugs of hot chocolate and so afraid he’d read something wrong. 

“Yes,” Harry breathed, nodding slowly at first, and then frantically. “I really hope you’re not joking about this–”

Louis scoffed. He dropped Harry’s hand so he could wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “Why would I be joking?” he snapped, then gentled the blow by tugging Harry down by his curls and kissing him. 

Harry kissed back eagerly, hands clawing at the back of Louis’ shirt. “Dunno,” he mumbled in between kisses. “‘S happened to me before.”  
  
Louis pulled back, stunned. 

Harry paused. 

He hadn’t meant to admit that. 

“Bit embarrassing. Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping out of Louis’ hold. 

Louis made a frustrated noise and tugged him right back into his arms. “It’s not embarrassing. Only person who should be embarrassed is the person who did that to you, baby. I’m gonna carve ‘twat’ into their forehead.” 

“Cool, have fun,” Harry dismissed, nuzzling into Louis’ scruff. “Call me baby again?” 

Louis laughed into his ear. “Needy.” 

Harry pouted. 

Louis poked his bottom lip and took a step backwards. 

“Come on, we haven’t even made it to the bedroom yet and you’re already practically humping my leg.” 

Harry dropped his gaze, feeling his cheeks warm. When he looked back up, Louis was standing in the doorway to Harry’s bedroom expectantly.   
  
“I’ll call you daddy instead if you don’t get a move on,” Louis threatened, pointing at him sternly. 

Harry made his feet start walking, despite feeling like he could float over to Louis on a cloud of happiness if he wanted to. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he answered, “that’s not exactly a punishment.” 

“You’re into that, too?” Louis pulled a face—half considering, half amused—and chuckled. “Christ, make up your mind.”

Harry calculated the distance that remained between them, then pounced. 

Louis made a startled noise as Harry pinned him against the doorframe, wrists caught above his head and a thigh shoved between his legs. 

Harry raised his eyebrows as he drank in Louis’ reaction—the dilated pupils, the sweat beading on his upper lip that was begging to be licked off—and he marvelled at how fucking _ lucky _he was, that Louis would even be in the same room as him, let alone let him do this. 

“Alright, point made,” Louis rasped. “But d’you reckon we could table the kinky shit for another day?” His eyes softened, and his hands arms went limp in Harry’s hold. “Wanna look at you, baby,” he purred, rolling his torso against Harry’s. 

And—well. That was what Harry had been afraid of. 

He winced the second Louis’ chest met his own, dropping Louis’ wrists and backing away. 

“I—uh,” Harry stammered. He was fine a moment ago, when it had been jokes and banter and whatever _ that _ just was, but now he was back to square one, staring at Louis from across the room (from across the field, looking at the graceful way he moved, wondering if he’d _ ever _feel that comfortable in his own skin). “I’ve got a couple...insecurities,” Harry said, playing with the first button of his shirt. 

Louis raised his eyebrows. He stepped closer to Harry and batted his hands away. Harry watched as Louis nimble fingers worked their way down Harry’s shirt, exposing him one button at a time. 

“Is ‘insecurities’ code for ‘tits’?” Louis asked mildly. He levelled Harry with a gently unimpressed look as he pushed the shirt off Harry’s shoulders. “Because I hate to break it to you, love, but I knew that already.” 

Harry licked his lips, trying to remember how to breathe normally with Louis’ hands on his skin, touching his shoulders, his arms, his neck. Just… exploring, while Louis’ eyes followed their path. 

“Oh, no,” Harry croaked. “My big secret.” 

Louis snorted unexpectedly. 

Harry laughed, too, and with the laughter came his breath. He sighed deeply, and Louis smiled at him. 

Then, he snuck his fingers under the back of Harry’s binder.   
  
Harry closed his eyes, and when he opened them, Louis was _ right there, _pressing a kiss to Harry’s chest through the fabric. He got as far as running his tongue along the bottom seam before Harry snapped and pushed him away. 

Louis made an offended noise that turned into a laugh as Harry started tugging the binder over his head, arms flailing this way and that. 

“Don’t laugh at me!” Harry pouted once he was free. “And—shit–” he threw the fabric to the ground, then pressed his palm over Louis’ eyes before he could look. 

Louis parked his hands on his hips, but didn’t shy away from Harry’s touch. “What’s all this, then?” he asked. 

Harry felt his eyelashes flutter beneath his hand and giggled at the sensation. 

“I wanted it to be fair,” he said, plucked Louis’ collar away from his skin. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” 

Louis poked his tongue out at him. “What is this, primary school?” he asked, but he was already moving to pull the shirt over his head, so Harry paid him no mind. 

He let his arm drop back to his side, drinking in every last inch of exposed skin. Louis’ stomach was soft but toned, and Harry remembered how badly he wanted to fall to his knees and bite it the first time he'd seen it. His gaze travelled upwards, taking in his small nipples, his surgery scars, the dusting of hair at the centre of his chest, and the messy-sketch lines of his varied, seemingly random tattoos. 

Louis dropped his shirt on the ground and smoothed his hair down. “Tada,” he muttered, hunching like he wasn’t the most gorgeous creature Harry had ever seen. 

Harry reached for him, smoothing his fingertips along the lines of his scars, watching Louis’ face as his eyes fluttered closed. They felt soft, and Harry wanted to put his mouth on them. 

“Sorry I’m–” Louis started, opening his eyes to stare at Harry with startling vulnerability. 

“Stunningly beautiful?” Harry interrupted fiercely. 

Louis blinked, stunned. “S—same to you,” he choked out. 

Harry flattened his hands down Louis’ side, letting his hands rest on the dip of his waist. “Yeah, right,” Harry said, laughing at himself softly. 

Louis frowned at him, stepping closer. “Harry, please don’t do that.”

Harry scowled. “Hypocrite.”  
  
Louis shook his head and sighed. When he looked back up at Harry, it was with shiny eyes and a twinkling smile. “You’re right.” 

He reached for Harry, pressing his hand to Harry’s neck like a brand. Harry nudged his chin into Louis’ wrist right where the fraying edge of his rope tattoo was, surprised to find Louis’ skin was as cold as the air around them.

“I’ll try and stop if you do, too,” Harry promised. 

Louis smoothed his hand downwards, tracing the line of Harry’s throat then his collarbones, down and down until he was thumbing Harry’s nipple. 

Harry’s breath hitched, and Louis grinned. “Deal.” 

Harry squeezed Louis’ hips. He started walking them backwards towards his bed. “Great, because I really want to fuck you, and all this insecurity bullshit is a huge mood killer.”

Harry didn’t have time to savour the surprise that painted Louis’ features; his knees hit the edge of the mattress far quicker than he’d expected. He tumbled straight down, taking Louis with him. 

They landed with an _ oof, _Louis pushing himself up off Harry’s chest frantically. He started laughing when he saw the look of surprise on Harry’s face. 

“Idiot,” he teased, pressing a kiss to Harry’s nose. He worked his way across Harry’s face so he could nudge Harry’s hair aside and whisper into his ear, “Who says I’m gonna let you do a thing like that, hm?” 

Harry shrugged, pushing Louis off him—he went with a squawk and a curse—so he could crawl backwards up the bed and settle in a regal sprawl against the pillows. 

“Fine,” he sighed, eyelids lowered as he played out his every twenties-dandy fantasy. “You’ll just have to fuck me instead.”

Louis froze. His eyes skittered over Harry, and he gulped. 

_ Ah, to be looked upon with longing, _ Harry thought. _ It’s been a while. _

It had never been like this, though. 

A lascivious grin spread across Louis’ face. “I’m up for it,” he purred. 

Harry opened his arms invitingly. 

Louis pounced. 

* * *

Waking up with someone’s arms around him wasn’t as comfortable as Harry had been lead to believe. But when he groaned and shuffled back against Louis' chest, felt him pull Harry closer in his sleep—well. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

If only he didn’t desperately need to pee. 

He extricated himself as gently as he could, spinning around once his feet were planted firmly on the floor just in time to see Louis frown and curl into the warm space Harry had just left. 

His hair was a mess, his neck was decorated with a few fading bruises, and his skin was glowing gold in the soft morning sun; Harry wanted to stand there for the rest of his life, just staring at him. 

_ If only you didn’t desperately need to fucking pee. _

Harry cursed under his breath, crept over to his wardrobe to frantically throw on a shirt and some boxers, and then he was speeding towards the bathroom for a piss, a shower, and a ten minute interlude of staring at himself in the mirror in absolute wonderment. 

_ You have a boyfriend who thinks you’re fit, _ he told himself, grinning from ear to ear. _ He willingly had wonderful sex with you. He _ wanted _ to have wonderful sex with you. _

Harry could barely believe it.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. 

“Hazza? You in there?” 

Harry’s heart was in his throat when he pulled the door open to reveal Louis on the other side, dressed only in a pair of Harry’s pants. Louis shuffled his feet, smiled at him sort of nervously, then caught sight of himself in the fogged up bathroom mirror over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Shit.” He tried to smooth his hair down with those speedy, delicate movements he had—like some kind of majestic bird, except sexier. 

“You look like a sexy bird,” Harry blurted. 

Louis froze, then dropped his hands to his side. “Do I?” he laughed. 

Harry dared to lean close, dared to press his hand to the bruises on Louis’ neck, and dared to kiss him on the nose. “Yeah,” he said, nuzzling against the slight stubble on Louis’ cheek. “G’morning.” 

Louis sighed, and Harry felt some of the nervous energy leave him. “Good morning, baby,” he whispered, looping his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry could hear the smile in his voice, and it made his knees feel weak.

Louis carded his fingers through Harry’s still-drying hair and tutted. “You had a shower without me?”

Harry shook his head, eyes wide with child-like denial.

Louis looked like he was about to laugh. “Good,” he said, lips twitching. “Because if you had, then you’d be forced to take another one with me right now.”

“Oh no,” Harry purred, nuzzling his way towards Louis’ ear. “Is daddy gonna make me–”

Louis shoved him back and clapped a hand over his mouth. “We’re still not doing that."

Harry licked Louis’ palm, but Louis’ only reaction was to start walking them both towards the shower.

“Y’know, I never thought you’d be such a minx,” Louis commented casually, using his free hand to turn the tap and test the water.

Harry shook his head, dislodging Louis’ hand. “M’not,” Harry pouted. “I’m a good Catholic boy.”

Louis sent him a look after he was done pulling his (well, Harry’s) pants off his wonderful legs. “You’re only two of those things, Harold. Now c’mon, I demand to be washed!”

He stepped backwards into the spray and spread his arms wide. 

Harry hopped in after him, pulling the curtain shut and sealing them in to their watery safe haven. 

“Don’t think I can, I’m too intimidated by your t-pose,” Harry mumbled. He reached for a cloth and body wash while Louis cackled and relaxed his arms.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Harry froze, staring down at his hands as a string of body wash dripped out of the upended bottle and onto the cloth. The weak spray from the showerhead pitter-pattered against his shoulders and his hair was starting to get in his eyes. He waited another moment, then looked up at Louis. He looked the same as Harry felt—drenched, drowning, wide-eyed.

He didn’t look at all like he’d meant for those four words to leave his lips. 

“I can pretend like I didn’t hear that, if you like,” Harry said, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the spray. 

Louis shook his head fiercely, his face finally animating. “No, don’t do that. Please don’t.” He pushed the hair off his forehead and leaned closer to Harry, blinking against the steam and the water. “It’s true. It’s true, okay? Hey. Look at me.” 

Harry had only looked away for a moment; his gaze snapped back up guiltily. 

“Does that freak you out?” 

The look of concern on Louis’ face didn’t fade when Harry shook his head. 

Harry looked back down at the cloth in his hand, then up at Louis. The body wash made a loud _ snap _as he flicked the cap back on.

“Turn around, please.” 

Louis obeyed. His shoulders were bunched and tense. Harry frowned and dropped a soft kiss onto one, running the cloth along the other. Louis sighed and relaxed back into him.

Harry’s hands were gently as he worked, moving Louis when he needed to. Louis allowed himself to be washed happily enough, but there was a fragility to his expression that wouldn’t leave no matter how careful Harry was. 

After that, it was a mess of breakfast, a hurried pulling-on of clothes, a brief interlude of snogging against a wall, and then a reluctant goodbye as they both set out for class.

And for the rest of the day, those four words were all Harry could think about.

* * *

“Tell me again.”

Liam groaned, their head collapsing into their arms. “I can’t hear it again,” they moaned.

Zayn nodded, taking a pull from his beer. 

Harry ignored them both. 

“We had sex.” 

“Yep, got that bit,” Niall said, ticking it off on his finger. 

“He stayed the night.” 

Niall ticked off another finger. 

“In the morning, he looked so beautiful–”

“–that you wanted to stare at him forever,” chimed in Liam. “It was only cute the first three times.”

Niall ticked off another finger.

“And then he said we should shower together.” Harry sighed and took a gulp of beer, then continued, “and I said something incredibly witty and he told me he loved me then stared at me like I’d shot his grandma.”

Niall ticked off the last finger, then stared at his palm as an exaggerated look of realisation passed across his face.

“What is it?” Harry asked unenthusiastically. 

“I’ve figured out the solution,” Niall stage whispered. “Here.” 

He held his palm out, stretching his arm across the table so Harry could see it. Zayn absently lifted Niall’s sleeve out of a puddle of pub-goo while Harry stared at the emptiness of Niall’s hand. 

“Bam!” Niall yelled, shoving his hand forward and clapping Harry right in the face.   
  
Harry jerked backwards, stared at him blankly for a moment, then burst out laughing. 

“I don’t get it,” Liam said.

Niall shrugged and finished his beer. 

“You know what _ I _don’t get,” Zayn asked, “is what advice you even need from us? Sounds like you’re pretty sorted, mate.”

“I’m with Zayn on this one. Tommo’s a great guy, and if he really loves you then you’re one lucky cunt.” Niall burped, then flushed a little. “Sorry.” 

Harry’s eyes surveyed the graveyard of pint glasses littered across their table. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to invite the lads out for drinks and then wait until round three to actually start talking about anything. 

“I’m definitely that, Niall; that’s not the problem.”

“Then what is!” Liam huffed. “Because—oh. Oh. Okay, now I’m on board. Hell yes, Harry!” 

Liam offered up a hand for a high five, which Harry puzzledly returned. 

“What just happened?” Niall asked Zayn in a hushed tone. 

“Liam thinks they’ve figured it out,” Zayn replied at a normal level. 

“I don’t _ think _ I have, I _ know _I have,” Liam jeered, then broke into a giggle at their own antics. 

“Well?” Harry prodded. Honestly, he was just as curious as the rest of them. 

Liam schooled their features and placed their hands flat on the table. “Harry’s problem isn’t that Louis loves him, it’s that he’s afraid of being rejected so he didn’t say it back and now he feels like a terrible boyfriend because he knows that Louis’ secretly, like, insecure about stuff like that, and so he wants our help to stage a big elaborate romantic gesture to proclaim his love!”

Liam’s stream of words ended in a goofy smile as they looked around the table. 

Harry, Niall, and Zayn stared back at them with matching confoundment. 

Harry recovered first. “Yeah! Oh, yes. That’s. That’s definitely it. Actually, though,” Harry frowned, cornering Liam into the back of the booth, “how did you know that, about Louis being insecure? I didn’t tell you that.” 

Liam mimicked his expression, but with far less intensity. “I have talked to the lad before, Harry.”

“Oh.”

There was a beat of silence, then Niall cleared his throat. “Alright, then, Harold. What kind of gesture are we talking? Giant cake? We get the team to dress up like cheerleaders and perform a love-themed routine? Ooh, how about–”

“Um, no thank you,” Harry rushed to interrupt. He didn’t like the spark building behind Niall’s eyes; knowing him, the suggestions were just going to get more and more outlandish. “I haven’t decided yet.” 

Zayn rapped his fingers against his glass. It wasn’t loud enough to catch Harry’s attention, but the movement caught the edge of his periphery and he turned to Zayn attentively. 

Zayn smiled. It was slow, but genuine. “I think I’ve got something.”

* * *

Two hours of arts and crafts later, and Harry, Liam, Zayn, and Niall were standing in a hallway and staring down at their creation. 

“This is less impressive than I imagined,” Zayn mused. 

“Nah,” Liam handwaved. They were the only one to keep drinking, since not even Zayn had wanted to drink the peppermint schnapps they’d found in his the back of his kitchen cupboard, and their coordination was laughably off center. “This is genius. Right, Harry?” 

Harry shot them a smile, then sighed. “D’you think he’ll think it’s silly?”

Niall scoffed. “Mate, you could moon the poor fuck and all he’d think was how the sun was shining out of your arse and right into his—”

“Alright, alright,” Harry laughed, walking towards the door (careful not to trip over the newspaper they’d put under his gift, since the spraypaint hadn’t dried yet). 

He stopped and stared at the door, hand raised in preparation to knock. 

“I’m gonna do it,” he warned.

Niall started stretching his legs out. 

“Wait, are we ding-dong-ading-along-ditching?” Liam burped, then giggled.

“Yeah,” Zayn eyed him with concern. “Can you run?”

Liam puffed out their chest, pursed their lips in a concentrated scowl, and nodded firmly. 

“Okay….” Harry said, turning back to the door. He rapped twice as loud as he could. “Go!" 

The four of them sprinted down the hallway and around the corner towards the elevators.   
  
Harry stayed back, stuck in a moment of indecision. 

“Maybe I should–”

“Shhh,” Niall hissed. 

Harry huffed, then waved between himself the direction of Louis’ apartment. 

Zayn rolled his eyes and walked back over to him. He flattened himself against the wall and peered around the corner, and everyone rushed to follow. 

After a brief scuffle, they were poised to watch as the door opened. Louis’ head popped out. Harry grinned into his fist at the confused scowl on his face. 

Louis looked around, but he didn’t seem to notice the four heads staring at him down the hallway. He moved backwards as if to close the door again, and Harry pawed at Niall’s shirt frantically. Niall shrugged him off as Louis finally noticed the present gracing his doormat. 

Harry couldn’t see his expression as he knelt down to poke at the still-drying paint curiously. 

He hoped it was a smile. 

(Harry knew that _ he _ would be smiling, if five footballs appeared at his front door painted blue, pink, white, pink, blue—especially if there was a lopsided word on each one and they read, _ Louis Tomlinson: I Love You.) _

Louis dropped down from his kneel into a comfy sprawl in his doorway and pulled out his phone. 

Harry barely had enough time to scramble for his own before it started vibrating. 

“‘Lo?” he whispered, hushing Liam’s snickering. 

Louis laughed into his ear, and Harry saw his shoulders move from across the hall. 

“Hi, baby,” Louis said. He leant back against his doorway, idly rolling the pink ball that said _ love. _“Guess what?” 

Harry cleared his throat, then hummed questioningly. 

“You might have some competition.” Louis ran his hand across his fringe, unknowingly smearing some pink spraypaint into it. “I’ve just received a declaration of love from an anonymous admirer.”

Harry fake-gasped. “No, way.”

Liam shot him a supportive thumbs up.

“Mhm. According to their present, this person’s got a lot of trans pride, plays soccer, and loves me, specifically. D’you reckon it’s Liam?” 

Harry made an affronted noise. 

Liam shot him a panicked thumbs down. 

“Uh, yeah, maybe?” Harry answered. He pulled the phone away and hid it against his chest, mouthing, _ what do I do? _, at Zayn and Niall. 

The two shared a look, and then Harry found himself being shoved into the hallway. 

He stumbled on his feet, throwing his hands out to balance himself. Liam used their battle-hardened goalie skills to snatch Harry’s phone out of thin air, no doubt saving it from certain death. 

Certain death was a luxury Harry wanted to afford at that moment. He turned to look at Louis, sure that the expression on his face betrayed his every feeling. 

Louis was staring at him over his shoulder, phone still held to his ear. His eyes were crinkled up at the corners; there was still a streak of pink in his hair; he was the most beautiful fucking boy Harry had ever met; and–

Shit. 

Harry swallowed, taking all of his words down with it. He felt them settle heavy in his stomach, dissolving one by one.

Louis hung up the phone and pulled himself to his feet in a single graceful movement. 

_ How does he do that? _Harry thought.

Louis tilted his head to the side, eyes raking over Harry’s body. He seemed to be waiting for something, but Harry couldn’t figure out what. 

Harry heard Niall groan from behind him. 

“This is painful.”

Liam shushed him. 

“Um.” Harry stumbled forward a few steps, then almost tripped on the uneven carpeting. 

“Hey," Louis tsked. "Eyes on me, yeah?”

Harry looked up, and green met blue.

Louis licked his lips and jutted his chin towards the five balls sitting in front of his ball. His manner was unexpectedly confrontational, but his voice still sounding soft. “Something to say to me?”

Harry winced. He wanted to say so many different things: _ it was Zayn’s idea; I was a little bit drunk; I can be in Mongolia in 20 hours and you’ll never have to see me again. _

In the end, he chose to tell the truth. 

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m in love with you.”

Louis’ grin was louder than Liam’s whooping from down the hall; louder than Niall’s rowdy applause; louder than Zayn’s yelled, _ get in! _

“Yeah?” he asked, bouncing on the souls of his feet. He looked so happy—so _simply happy—_that Harry wondered how he'd ever been willing to let him go without a fight.

Harry was tired of being so far away from him; he was across the hall in ten seconds flat, pulling Louis up into a kiss before he could even _ think _about tripping. 

And Louis kissed back, cradling his face tenderly (and probably also smearing pink spraypaint all over his cheeks). 

Louis’ kiss turned gentle, then he pulled back after a final tender press of lips to nudge his nose against Harry’s. “Me, too,” he laughed. “I love you, too.” 

“Sick,” Harry replied. He turned in Louis’ arms to face the peanut gallery and pump his fist into the air. “He stills loves me!” 

“What’d I tell you!” Niall called back. 

“Horan?” Louis hooked his head over Harry’s shoulder. “Is that you lurking in the shadows?” 

“...No.” 

Louis buried his laugh in Harry’s neck. 

Harry ducked out of the way. “That tickles!”

Louis shrugged. “You’ll get over it,” he said, with a wicked glint in his eyes. “You love me.” 

Harry couldn’t deny it. And besides, he no longer wanted to. 

“Oi, then, you lot! You’re coming in for a cuppa,” Louis shouted down the hallway. “Least you could do, interrupting my beauty sleep like this.” 

“You don’t need it,” Harry pouted. 

Louis sent him a fond smile, then pointed down at the balls. “Can I keep these?” 

“‘Course you can!” replied Niall. He pulled Louis into a tight hug, slapping his back in greeting. “Alright, Tommo?” 

Louis scoffed and shoved Niall away. “As if don't know; you've been watching it all like a creep.”

“_Creeps. _Plural,” Liam butted in, sharing their own hug with Louis. 

Zayn just nodded to him, which Louis returned happily enough. 

“Alright, what tea does everyone want?” he asked, walking backwards into his apartment and somehow managing to not trip over the balls in his doorway. 

“I don’t know, normal?” Niall replied, then laughed at Louis’ affronted expression.

Harry stayed behind as his friends trailed after his boyfriend, trading jabs about Earl Grey and Darjeeling. He smiled to himself, knelt down, and tested that the paint had dried on his presents. 

“Great job, guys,” Harry whispered to them, rolling each one into the depths of Louis’ apartment. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” Louis’ head popped out from the kitchen. 

Harry rose to his feet and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him softly, and he shook his head. “Nothing, baby.”

Louis squinted at him dubiously, then half-joked, “And you still love me, right?” 

Harry nodded, meeting Louis’ gaze with intensity. “I don’t think I could ever stop.” 

Louis' expression turned raw. “God,” he rasped. “I hope you mean that.” 

“Well, _ I’ll _stop loving you if you don’t win us this season,” Niall joined in, wrapping Louis’ up in a tension-breaking headlock. 

Louis laughed and squirmed out of his hold. “Guess I’d better keep whipping your lost LGBT lambs into shape,” he sassed. 

“_Our _lambs; and yes, you had,” Niall warned, gesturing at him with his steaming mug of tea. “But hey, you know? One down.” He winked at Harry. 

Harry stole the mug from his hand, and Louis snorted at the look of betrayal on his face. 

“You’re not wrong,” he acknowledged—it was pretty much the only thing he could have said to make Niall forgive the theft of his tea.

“Course I’m not,” Niall scoffed. “Did I not tell you you’d get along great with the team? And now look at you, you’re in love. I’m a genius.” 

Louis leaned back against Harry’s chest and took a sip from the mug of Niall’s tea. “Aye, lad,” he said. “That you are. That you are.” 

Harry pressed a kiss to the streak of pink in Louis’ fringe, and found that he quite agreed. 

(And he still agreed a month later, when the team placed second overall in their league after a gruelling final in the rain; and three months after that, when Zayn walked in on them having sex and they had to bribe him with weed and skateboarding lessons just so he would look them in the eyes again; and five months after that, when Louis moved the last of his things into his and Harry's room, and they got wine-drunk and cried for hours about things they couldn't remember in the morning; and a year after that, standing with Louis in his very first gallery opening, seeing the proud smile on his face echoed in every last frame.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Pretty pls lease kudos/a comment, and maybe consider chucking the post over on [tumblr](https://graceling-in-a-suit.tumblr.com/post/187210840895/i-wanna-be-alright-with-my-baby-tonight-by) a reblog—I'll love you forever. xx


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